


You gotta help me (I'm losing my mind)

by RationalistRomantic (Chryses)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU/Not-so-AU, Alternate Universe - Imprinting, But different, Crucial Impaling, Definitely /not/ an omega verse, F/M, First Meetings, M/M, Non-Con Bonding, Telepathic Bond, WIP, and vague content tags as they are adressed, relationships, will be adding more characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryses/pseuds/RationalistRomantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John's quest for the closest adrenaline outlet leads him to a querulous, supposedly inanimate statue that reads his life story, befriends him, and proceeds impaling John's heart. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> To answer your question, yes the title of the story is based off of One Direction's song: History, but once you listen to the lyrics, your guys might understand my reason to wanting to base the whole story about it - well at least the important bits of the song, anyway. I've been a fan of the Sherlock (2010) series for quite a while now, and this is the breadth of my love for ACD, as well as Moffat and Gatiss' creation, and the first story I've ever publicized for this fandom - please go easy on me. -sweat drop- Personally, I thought it took a lot of mental prep (knowing that there's an overwhelming amount astounding works that I've personally read prior) to get myself to post this, but I've finally gotten myself to writing something that posed as something workable. Anyways, I won't bore you anymore with my rambling - happy reading! :)

Even if dreaming about his time in the army had been worst enough, John regretted knowing how vivid his subconscious could be; the tang of blood that he could detect to be forever acquainted with his saliva, the slow-burn, acrid scent of adrenaline-driven, musky pheromones and humid sand, and what he finds that he mostly couldn’t completely scrub off was the brush of the bullet before it completely shattered his clavicle, as well as his military career.

The dreams don’t come enough for him to develop long-term insomnia, but what’s kept him up most days was the disturbing feeling of dissatisfaction afterwards, when he couldn’t find the comfort of awakening to his own meagre bedsit. He couldn’t quite discern as to how that could be, knowing that he’s been back in London in what could be mistaken as years in a span of two months. God help him.

 

“How’s your blog going?”

 

This was another thing that he couldn’t quite shake off: ruminating.

 

“Fine…” he tries, swallowing down the feeling of ripping the notepad from his therapists’ clutches, and scorching it to smithereens – bloody things.  “It’s...fine.”

 

She blinks owlishly at him, before scribbling more things in.

 

“You haven’t written a word, have you?”

 

“You just wrote ‘still has trust issues’.” John quips, idly clenching his left fist.

 

“And you read my writing upside down.” A fair point. “Do you see what I mean?”

 

He has taken to playing with the hem of his trousers.

 

“John,” she speaks in what appeared to be masked-condescension in John’s ears. “You were a soldier. It’s going to take time to adjust to civilian life –“obviously. “- And writing a blog about what happens to you will _honestly_ help you.”

 

He almost smirks at the irony of it all.

“Nothing happens to me.”

 

 

><><><>< 

 

 

“And you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.” Mike smirks, sipping at his coffee. “That’s not the John Watson I know.”

 

“I’m not the John Watson –“ He pauses to breathe a sigh.

 

Mike senses the disturbance, pursing his lips decisively. “Couldn’t Harry help?”

 

She could, she very well could. If only. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” He decides. There’s no point on rehashing a decade’s worth of petty feud, and drunken curses – he’s not willing to allow himself to go through all that again.

 

 

“You could always,” Mike hazards slowly. “Get a flat share or something.”

 

“C’mon.” John smirks depreciatingly. “Who’d want me for a flatmate?”

 

His friends laughs.

 

“What?”

 

“You know, you’re the second person to say that to me today.”

 

Something sizzles for a second.

 

“Who was the first?”

 

><><><>< 

 

“A bit different from my day.” John smirks, eyeing the new-founded technology set upon him.

 

“You have no idea.” Affirms his friend. “Huh.”

 

John pauses from where he had been perusing through pipettes, and graduated cylinders to note Mike’s dumbfounded expression whilst he looked around the lab, humming thoughtfully.

 

“Something the matter, mate?” He asks politely. “You look kinda lost.”

 

“No, no.” Mike replies with a smile, waving his friend’s concern away. “I was just hoping to introduce you to the other tenant, but it appears that he isn’t here. It’s a shame.” He continues. “He’s usually working on something here with –“

 

“Sherlock, your coffee –“ “Oh.”

 

Mike and John jump at the new comer. She looked to be a timid little thing, wearing a lab coat that obviously looked two-sizes too big. She wore her short, tawny hair into a simple pony tail, and wore make up that did nothing but make her look younger, even with the slight flush that taints her cheek. Automatically, John envisioned her to be a teenager playing dress-up, but it was the eyes that gave it away, the clarified sheen to them that defined strength that he’s seen in younger children in Afghanistan that made them look twice their age – she’s got the same one in spades.

 

“I – Mike, have you seen Sherlock?” She asks, quietly assessing her surroundings. “He asked for coffee, so I…er…” Ms. Lab coat fiddles with the brown mug with large white polka dots that dot it, easing her weight from each foot, unable to meet their eyes.

 

“No, but I was just looking for him.” Mike points out. “For sure, I thought he’d be here.”

 

“Well…he wouldn’t just leave…would he?” She inquires, sifting through the short hair strands of hair that didn’t quite meld with the pony tail. “I mean…he did say that he was working on something…but I, it’s stupid.” She finally mutters.

 

“I wouldn’t worry much about him.” John decides speaking. It’s the only thing he could say, even when not knowing the bloke they’re talking about. “I mean, he’d phone in, or something if he had to go somewhere, right?”

 

But the assurance only deemed to make the woman fret even further, smiling somberly at John. Immediately, he senses that he’s said something wrong.

 

“I’d be lucky to even get a single text of greeting from him, I’m afraid.” She confesses with a sad tilt to her voice. “I know I should be used to it, but..” she chews on her lower lip, leaving the steaming mug by the microscope. “I don’t know.” Her eyes develop a slight gloss to them, like she was about a hair away from genuine tears.

 

“Molly,” Oh, so that was her name. “He’s going to be fine.” Mike chastises. “He does this all the time, how would this one be different?”

 

“I don’t know,” Molly finally admits after she’s taken a few calming breaths. “With all the disappearances lately, how could I?”

Mike takes a moment to blink understandingly, agreeing.

 

“No, I understand.” He says softly. “I barely know him, but he seems like a right bloke to go around London in the night time alone.”

 

“Sorry,” John finds himself cutting in through the conversation. “Disappearances?”

 

“Oh, that’s right, you just got back.” Mike provides, eyeing Molly as he says it. “This is my old mate John Watson, he just got back from his majesty’s service from –“

“Afghanistan, yeah. Nice to meet you, I’m John.” He offers his hand to the woman he’s just met, and have been referring to by name in his head. “Watson.”

 

Molly squeaks slightly, cheeks darkening to a light rouge.

 

“Oh, how rude of me!” Her voice rose a few pitches, taking John’s larger hand between both of her own, pumping it enthusiastically, and then letting go with a tender – motherly – pat to his knuckles. “Sometimes I get so used to greeting people with my eyes that I tend to forget that they can actually answer back.” She smiles, chuckling quietly to herself. “Molly Hooper. And if you hadn’t guessed yet, I’m a pathologist here at Bart’s.”

 

Well, that joke did seem a bit morbid that he had no idea how to properly react but to smile politely at her.

 

“So you were talking about the disappearances?” He voices.

 

“Oh yes,” she hastily nods. “Though I wouldn’t count on it being just disappearances.”

 

“New ones just came in, didn’t they?” Mike questions, seating himself at a stool with a resigned sigh.

 

“Yes.” Molly replies, gravely looking down at her scruffy regulation shoes with pink laces. “Three of them now; gauged their own flesh till they’ve bled to death.”

 

Mike and John winced simultaneously.

 

“Any idea how they always manage to do that?” John found himself asking. “The killer, I mean.”

 

Molly shrugs, shaking her head.

 

“I’ve done the autopsy, and there appeared to be no signs of a struggle. No known affiliations yet. No history of drug or substance abuse. Perfectly sound in their health. Other than that, we’re very much stumped till the police makes some progress with the investigation.” A sigh.

 

“Well, I’ll keep an eye out for your friend, if –“

 

“He’s not my friend.” Molly’s voice tremble slightly at the admission. She didn’t seem too pleased with her own words. “At least, I don’t think so. He says he doesn’t have friends.”

 

John chances a glance at his friend who voices his agreement.

 

“Well, if you need anything, just… -“ he waves his phone with a smile. “you know?”

 

“Yes, t-thank you.” Molly reflects the expression.

 

“Maybe next time?” he offers his mate, shaking his hand. “It’s been nice to see you again, Mike.”

 

“Alright, mate. Good to see you.”

 

“Bye.”

 

><><><>< 

 

As he was perusing for any locum work that might consider a crippled, retired, army surgeon the next day that he stumbled upon a large crowd, most of them clad in black clothing, protesting with retro-style picket signs that indicatined variations of disapproval for British Petroleum sponsorship to come through.

 

“They’re going to pollute our waters!”

 

“BP can ruin us!”

 

“We don’t want another oil spill incident!”

 

“Don’t let them to be sponsored by British Petroleum!”

 

All the voices were intermingling simultaneously, John felt his chest tighten slightly. This was no Afghanistan, but they may as well have been interrelated with the amount of noise they were producing. One elderly bloke in particular seemed to be in hysterics, more insistent with his claim.

 

“That relic is cursed!” The old man instigates. “They’ve gotten away with three! Who says they won’t claim another?!”

 

John found himself drawn to the old man, taking in the bloke’s haggard frame, unkempt hygiene, and untrimmed hair style that feel down his shoulder like fresh white linens, goatee beard long enough to be styled to a haphazard knot.

 

He notices John’s attention, and the elder man seemed to grow more insistent, boisterous even. 

 

“The end is nigh! The relic is a sign of Lucifer’s awakening! He will condemn us all to hell!”

 

“Gramps!” A pitchy voice call out from behind John, approaching the geriatric. “Gramps, there you are!” Then a. “Please come home, mum’s been worried.”

 

“I’ll come when I want to.” Replies the elderly. “I won’t have you ruining my protest!”

 

“Please.” The granddaughter pleads, eyes glittering. “You’ve barely slept a few days, she’s getting worried. Please come home!”

 

The old man studies the woman, then huffing as he passes John, heading presumably towards the awaiting car by the parking lot.

 

The woman smiles proudly, trailing after her grandad, leaving John to look at the vacant pavement where they just were. Distraction averted. Back to job searching, he supposes grimly.

 

 

><><><>< 

 

After a particularly dreadful interview with at least two clinics that were searching for part-timers, John supposed that he really should be getting back to his bedsit. It’s already reaching midnight, and he once again passes by the British Museum, noting all the lights to have been out indicating its closure for the day.

Now normally, he would’ve just passed by, but noticing the slight glimmer that almost appeared discernible protruding from one corner of the museum had peaked his curiosity. John can feel his heart set on a deadly calm pace, as he hobbles over towards the source, knowing very well that he could bloody well get an ASBO for infiltrating a museum during afterhours, but following through regardless. Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t felt so strongly about craving the rush, but then he joined the army, and the thought just flies out the window.

 

At a distance, he could hear faint traces of susurrus that presumably came from the museum, but they were so low that John’s ears couldn’t properly detect whether the voices had been a man’s or a woman’s, just that there was maybe a collective group present.

And so, he limps slightly, feeling the budding sensation of pain that he’s expecting recede just slightly, like it was up for some cooperation during his little investigation (can it even be called that?). Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to check.

 

“No, don’t be an idiot. They may be getting careless with the bloody thing, but this is still an operation that we need to carry out before the museum opens.” One voices; a woman.

“Well, you can’t really believe that the bloody thing had been the source of all those disappearances.” Another responds; a man.

“You never know. The thing could be cursed, and we’re just setting ourselves up for eternal damnation.”

“Just shut up with your religious preaching, and disconnect the damn wires, will you? The security might wake up soon enough. Doddering sod.”

“Alright, alright. I’m on it. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

More scuffing, and the noises disappear altogether.

 

Well, at least he’s for sure not going to get an ASBO, just so long as he can find a way to apprehend the perpetrators.

John waits another few minutes, awaiting for any signs that the people he’s heard earlier have not decided to check back on their original positions, before deciding to peer cautiously towards the small opening without informing them of his presence.

Luckily, his patience have proven to be a blessing, noting the lustre from earlier have been distinguished to a faint translucence of the moonlight alone, reflecting from the roof windows above him. By the corner, he sees the security guard passed out in thankfully a recovery pose, pliant, and had no signs of struggling to breathe, or heartbeat elevation which could definitely be associated to Ketamine or some other sort of mild tranquilizer. John quickly decides to check on the security guard after his escape.

He sets off in a blind run, completely missing that he’s gain full mobilization of his left leg, cane gripped firmly in his dominant hand. Though he does idly curses himself for forgetting to bring his unlicensed pistol, entertaining the possibility that the intruders could possibly be armed. This trip just keeps on getting better.

 

><><><>< 

 

 

When John finally manages to locate the individuals that he’s seen earlier, they were dispatched in a large cove-like entry, with large bags of treasures that jingled at every other step they took. For a second, John thought that he’d been discovered from his hiding place behind one of the columns, but the two only seemed to have the primary goal of having to inconspicuously prevaricate without public attention, so they toddled along, paying to no heed to John’s scrutiny as they passed him (sometimes it had been a blessing and a curse that his looks had derived the norm population that he’s almost always blended in with very little to no detection).

 

John was tempted to just burst after them, but from what he’d seen, both of the hoodlums appeared to be armed with a gun each, which could prove the retrieval of whatever they have stolen to be slightly difficult, even with his military training honed in.

 

He almost decides to leave whilst he phoned the authorities, but he felt a faint tugging sensation towards the entrance of the cove. Confused, and momentarily startled, John nudges past a couple of busts before gaining entry towards the cove, and it had been surprisingly well-lit.

There appeared to be very little to no surveillance in the room, though there did appear to be some sort of glass that stuck out from beneath dark crevices,  radiating a distinct burn in the centre that seemed to be nicked off of a vintage Bond Film with a top notch laser security-system. However, when he looked further ahead, he catches a small, slightly glint that could be easily missed if you had no idea what to look for.

The object in question – as John approached – looked to be a string of thin, black diamonds in a collection of dense, sharp marquise, leading to a slightly larger, crescent shape one, as thin as a sharp blade, encrusted in otherworldly sheen that John couldn’t possibly identify. Attached to the beautiful jewelry (or more like the other way around) is a Botticelli with its deep swirls in, and dramatic, albeit awe-inspiring detail, almost alien features John had ever seen. He was instantly reminded of David, but he notices the differentiation with the pouty lips, and sharp eyes that glinted like sapphires engorged in blue flames, courtesy of the silhouette of the moonlit sky that served to intensify the concentration on the statue’s countenance. The statue is made purely of the highest grade of marble, all smooth, and unblemished with human impurities, strong yet graceful hands steepled imperiously beneath the soft-looking bottom lip, feet angled slightly that gave the illusion that the figure could walk at any moment, the air around it set abuzz as though insurmountable energy is encased within its shell.

 

“Beautiful.” He finds himself commenting. “Absolutely gorgeous.” His hands hesitantly reaches towards the space where the hypnotic diamonds stood, only to hastily duck, and tumble from the faint click that set off a barrage of arrows that almost came into contact with his skin. As his feet lands on flat ground, his ankle grazes into a trip wire, which sets off daggers that he very narrowly avoids, setting his nerves on fire. And suddenly, he is vaguely reminded of Indiana Jones, dodging attacks from inanimate, albeit deadly weapons, and ammunitions until he was out of breath, and all he could feel was the sheer power that he felt from the shot of adrenaline that spiked his system. He had no idea how long have gone, but he finds himself kneeling in front of the statue, clutching his burning thighs, eyes closed, as he tried to salvage what’s left of his oxygen.

 

“Fascinating.” Someone voices in front of him, baritone sounding, and tasting like good quality velvet. “A soldier, and a healer. Someone worthy of redeeming my sword.”

John opens his eyes, and he felt himself stiffen on the spot. In place of the statue he had seen prior, was a man. The features still remained consistent, but they looked to be much softer in human likeness, all foreign, and sharp angles, swaddled only in an ivory sheet, the single earring that triggered the attack from the beginning, glinted as the bloke hummed, observing John’s quiet movements, as he erected himself to his full height, and rose to exactly a foot taller than John. Every. Bloody. Time.

Said bloke heeds to no societal norm when it came to personal space, lightly touching John’s temple before John takes a hasty step back.

 

“Who the hell are you!?” John grits. “How did you know that?”

 

“I shan’t bore you with the tedious details.” The figure looked contrite, clearly unaccustomed to having to explain himself to a curious listener, quietly fidgeting, both hands behind his back, sheets remaining as would an emperor’s toga.

 

“Have you been stalking me, then?” John decides, inhaling sharply, straightening his posture rigidly. “Because if you’re looking for money, I’m afraid that I’m just about bleeding dry in here, mate.”

“Money? Dull. And because of your boring search to carry out your practice? I would’ve suggested doing that after you’ve undergone the imprinting process, but I doubt you’d be doing much these days other than assisting me with the work. Though I suppose something could be negotiated if nothing else arises.”

 

The work? Imprinting? His practice?

 

“Who the hell have you been talking to?!” he barks. “How do you know me? How did you figure all that out?”

“Boring.” Voices the figure, pacing around John, tenting his fingertips as he’d done before. “Can’t we just get on with the imprinting? We’re wasting away the night, standing around like suspicious idlers that lurk about in a closed museum.”

 

“Excuse me?” John quips, clenching his fist. “Imprinting? What are you talking about?”

 

“Clearly you have sound hearing, though I suppose serving in the army _does_ pose some perks.” Sarcastic git. “Surely you’re aware of the process, seeing as you’re currently perusing around my display.”

 

“I wasn’t.” protests John. “I was just –“How does he explain that he was curious about whether there had been some trouble going around the museum. “Wait, what? Display?”

“Yes.” The bloke narrows his eyes, before wandering his attention to his surroundings. “Though I do applaud the creativity of remaining here, even after you’ve stolen my gold. That’s never happened before.”

 

John notices that he’s standing on sheen granite flooring, and nothing else. Then something connects.

 

“I - that was the reason I came here.” John starts, clenching and unclenching his fist. “There was this group that just went through here with bags full of what I’d assume was your gold, and.. well…”

 

Realization seemed to cloud over the bloke’s features, widening his eyes, and parting his lips.

“You’re…not here because of the…sword?” And it seemed more of a question than a statement.

 

“No?” John tilts his head to the side, confused. “Should I be?”

 

A wave of silence drifted towards them, as the David look-a-like stares off into the distance in deep thought.

 

“But, you did wish for me, didn’t you?” He insists, tone sounding almost hollow. “I.. All of this –“ he gestures towards his whole being. “- it shouldn’t happen unless I’m the very thing that you’ve desired to attain.”

“So… what?” John says slowly. “You’re telling me that you’re some sort of magical being that turns to human for people who wish for you?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid.” The bloke huffs churlishly. “That’s a plebeian concept that ordinary humans such as yourself conceptualize in your slightly inaccurate history books. No, I’m borne from the strong desire for power, thrill, and adventure. It’s through my existence that you humans ever find reasons to formulate entropy, and tribulation within a population to occasionally alleviate boredom in their wake, such as wars, and the occasional raid. Yourself, however…” He’s got this intense curiosity that kept John on edge. “You hadn’t come here for that selfish desire alone – although your life might be bland to the point of your quaint patriotism towards the Queen and country have left you with very little chances to live out the life that you’ve craved during your military days, that you had to resort to pursuing petty heists from idiots who only desired sheer opulence, you still somehow manage to inadvertently relieve me from my bondage, even without knowing of its full consequences. My question is how you’re still able to interact normally with me, knowing that I am the main cause to your boring attempts of power-play.”

 

“I –“ he finds himself tongue-tied. He didn’t remember interacting with the bloke for any longer length of time than this meeting, and yet he couldn’t even place a time in his life that he’d ever been fascinated in anything other than wanting to be a surgeon in the army. “That... was amazing.”

 

The man hunches his shoulder that looked to be an effort to curl away from the compliment, but basking on it shamelessly, fluttering his eyelash shyly, then drifting his attention towards his bare, pallid feet.

“You think so?” And the tone was soft-spoken, almost fragile in its lightness.

“It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Nothing, really. By the time they’ve witnessed the change in my person, they’d be white as a sheet, and abandon the quest altogether.”

 

And he had no idea who exactly had initiated it, but they were both laughing: the stranger a deep timbre that tasted sweet, while John a childish, though slightly pitchy, and boyish that he was almost self-conscious of it, only to laugh harder when they’ve made eye contact.

 

“I’ll take it.” The stranger decides, smiling triumphantly towards John.

Sobering, John almost missed it. “Take what, exactly?”

“This.” The bloke hums, placing a large paw on top of the source of John’s slightly elevated heartbeats. “I’ll take this.”

 

And within seconds, the stranger’s hand morphs into a large claw that pierced through all the layers of barrier that separated cold fingertips from John’s heart. There was screaming that rang through his ears that he vaguely realizes had been his own, but that too was lost within the torrent of pain that surges at every cell of his body, almost like every drop of blood that inhabits his very being is pulsing towards the bloke’s fingertips, melding into a single, complete solution of foreign codons that he never knew could exist. But that wasn’t all.

Everything was thrumming in his system, but he knows that is heart had been a mere trickle among fog horns, and rocket launches that’s currently demanding his attention. The figure smiles forlornly, at him, almost as if he had been apologetic about staking John’s fucking heart with his sodding claws the size of wicker branches, before the stark darkness of his cornea overtakes his whole pupil, and swallows the whites of his eyes altogether.

Now John might have been hallucinating at some point in this little episode, because he could’ve sworn the figure telling him to stay awake, and that the anguish would soon be over.

 

 _Of course it would be over._  John intones drily in his head. _I’m dying, aren’t I?”_

**_Unfortunately not, don’t be stupid._** Another voice drifts towards his consciousness. **_Death is merely a temporary escape, this – this is the permanent fix to your restlessness. A form of mutual distraction, if you must._**

****

_Well, since I am dying, I assume this might be the best time for you to introduce yourself?_ John finds himself smirking at the thought of an introduction in his time of death. How bloody dramatic this farewell must be.

**_Not dying - I have said. _**The voice responds with feigned disinterest. **_Though admittedly, I have been taught better than to avoid the introduction of myself to whom I will now be acquainted with, for the time being. Oh, how appalled Mummy would’ve been, had she witnessed this little blunder. Do keep that small detail under wraps, by the way. It would only fuel her voracious appetite in interfering with the work if you're not too careful._** After a short pause. ** _Sherlock Holmes. You are?_**

 

John almost smiles at the childish wording with ‘Mummy’, but he reckon it wasn’t the right time to point that out just yet – or at all, knowing he was just seconds away from his own demise.

 

_John Watson. A pleasure._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's apparent 'bonding', and the things that went inside his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry guys for not updating this for so long! Hopefully you enjoy, whoever is still reading this, and I will now start adding small chapters that would hopefully suffice. This is just sort of a mini interlude chapter before I go on ahead and plan how the whole story will go. Enjoy!

If he was to describe the pain he endured, he doubted a lifetime of surgeries could ever amount to it. The injury itself melded with every ache, and every soreness in his bones. There were storms, there were needles, and there were spikes; death would’ve been easier.

 

Time itself was irrelevant. It felt as if he was sinking deeper into the ocean, whilst his insides were buzzing. He was alone in the chasm, at least he thought he was. The whole time he thought about drowning and yet he inhaled; he could’ve died, and yet there was pounding in his ears. In fact, the deeper he went, the less he could hear everything else. There was muffled sounds in the distance, but his energy was nonexistent to reply.

 

_ John. _

 

He hears his name even when his ears were ringing.

 

_ John Watson, wake up. _

 

He was asleep? Wasn’t he sinking deeper into some large body of water?

 

The darkness intensified even when his eyes remained closed. He couldn’t actually see through his own eyelids, but the light itself felt weaker; dimmed. He’s simultaneously drifted, whilst being captured. It was a strange feeling, being held prisoner inside your own body.

 

_ Oh, for the love of - _

 

And that’s when he screamed behind large hands. The museum, the dive, the statue being brought back to life; it’s all there. 

 

“Do shut up, will you? I’m sure you fancy yourself an exhibitionist, but for once I would love to avoid an ASBO that the fat git somehow misplaces, and then proceeds to rub my nose against it.” The pain on his inner thigh recoiled, and it would seem that he hadn’t sustained an injury. He still continued screaming regardless. His vision was blurred, but he could vaguely make out what the moon looked like, and how late in the night it was. “For god’s sake, John, be quiet.” Sherlock hastened his pace. John apparently hanged off the bloke’s shoulder. If he could move a single limb, he would sack the bloody statuesque being. “It was easier having you unconscious; You were at least manageable.” There was a strong punch to his abdomen, and then he was back to floating again.

 

_ There, at least you’re not screaming like you’ve been murdered, and I can actually talk to you. _

 

**_So, what? You knocked me out_ ** **_again_ ** **_just so that I would stop screaming?!_ **

 

_ I presumed that your responses would at least be a bit more profound than the average, but seeing as you’re stating the obvious, stupidity is apparently contagious. Why did I bind myself to you again? _

 

**_Wait, this is what you meant by the sword thing, right? Which is why we can talk to each other?_ **

 

_ Well, at least your retentive memory appears to be in order; yes, though it’s a bit of a surprise that I can speak to your consciousness seamlessly, so at least I know I performed the procedure adequately. _

 

**_Wait, wait, wait! Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve actually done this? Bound yourself to a human._ **

 

_ Not exactly… _ The voice trailed off in odd hesitancy, like he was shy about it.  _ Malpractice, I think would be a better descriptor. _

 

**_MALPRACTICE!?_ **

 

_ Shhhh.. _

 

**_DO NOT SHUSH ME INSIDE MY OWN HEAD -_ **

 

_ Actually, our heads - _

 

**_\- YOU WERE THE ONE WHO FUCKING GOT ME INTO THIS MESS, SO I CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT TO!_ **

 

_ John? _

 

**_WHAT!?_ **

 

_ Are you angry? _

 

**_WHATEVER GAVE YOU THE FUCKING IDEA!?!?_ **

 

_...That’s a...yes? _

 

**_YES! OF COURSE I’M BLOODY MAD YOU ARSEHOLE! YOU STABBED MY HEART!_ **

 

_ Technically, I stole it. _

 

**_YOU STOLE IT?!?!_ **

 

_ Yes, I did. Now if you’re quite done, it would appear that we’ve arrived at our destination. Talk to you later. _

 

**_NO! WAIT! SHERLOCK!_ **

  
  


And he was back to silence. Ooh when he gets his hands on that scrawny-necked bastard, he would squeeze the damn life out of him (even if he was a statue). Now all he needed to do was to wake up so that he could clobber the arrogant sod. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment below for any sort of question, or remark you would like to give me (because I do read them, and comment back just as fast). Otherwise, I wouldn't mind a kudo. Again, thank you for reading, have a great summer! :)!

**Author's Note:**

> The depth of your thoughts astound me. Please leave a comment about what you think? Thanks! :)


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